


Miss Marple's Admirer

by Persiflager



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=123560687#t123560687"> this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme - Sherlock/Mrs Hudson, with Mrs Hudson roleplaying as Miss Marple, Sherlock's biggest literary crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Marple's Admirer

Mrs Hudson had just settled down to listen to Woman’s Hour when she heard the rustle of something being pushed under her front door. She didn’t get up straight away – at her age, you learnt to savour the anticipation. Instead she made herself finish her tea and listen to what that nice Jenni Murray had to say about sexting before she went to investigate.

It was a plain cream envelope with ‘Mrs Hudson’ scrawled across it in Sherlock’s impatient, unmistakeable hand. _Oh_ , it had been a while since she’d seen that. She raised one hand to her lips unconsciously, blushing like a schoolgirl, before picking it up and taking it through to the kitchen to read.

He was considerate, she’d give him that (not that you’d know it the rest of the time – the racket he made with that lovely violin!). But he always gave her plenty of notice and included all the information she’d need on a neat little printout.

Mrs Turner wouldn’t approve, but then Mrs Turner was raised Methodist.

…

It didn’t take as much effort as you’d think, getting everything ready - Mrs Hudson just put a little table-cloth over the TV and made sure all her magazines and newspapers were tucked safely away in a drawer. Then she made up a batch of macaroons and settled down to learn her lines while they were baking.

After lunch Mrs Hudson went to get herself ready. The clothes weren’t a problem, thankfully – isn’t it funny how fashions come around? Anyway, her church outfit did very well. The only bit that she really wasn’t very keen on was taking her make-up off. It just made her feel so _old_ , without even a bit of lipstick to brighten her face up.

_Still,_ she consoled herself, _you’ve got a handsome young man coming to call on you this afternoon. Isn’t that worth a little knock to your vanity, you silly thing?_

Mrs Hudson set out the tea-things, put the kettle on, and waited. At four o’clock precisely, there was a knock at the door.

“Hello, Sherlock dear.” She twinkled a little, getting into character. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Marple.” He’d brushed his hair, bless him, and looked really quite smart. “I wonder if you’d mind giving me the benefit of your professional opinion.”

She beckoned him in graciously and went to fetch the tea.

…

Half an hour later, five macaroons and four cups of tea later, they’d nearly finished going through Sherlock’s fictional case. He was so lovely when he got caught up in telling a story – all bright-eyed and endearing, waving his hands all over the place.

“Now that _is_ rather suggestive,” said Mrs Hudson, recognising her cue when he mentioned flower arrangements.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I thought you’d appreciate that. I checked with the vicar and he confirmed that the sacristy was locked immediately after the service.” He gave her an expectant look.

“I’m reminded,” Mrs Hudson said thoughtfully, “of poor Dot Cotton.” And she launched into a lovely long gossipy ramble about the cast of Eastenders while Sherlock listened raptly. It wasn’t that she felt _ignored_ usually, the boys were very good and she had her own friends, but having someone hang on your every word … well, it could go to your head.

_Of course_ , she reminded herself, _he’s probably taking every word you say and imagining how it could fit with a nasty murder. He’s a nice boy but you know what he’s like._

With a little inward sigh, Mrs Hudson switched to the memorised conclusion. “… which is why it must have been the organist’s wife. Such a shame, but she really was the only one who had the opportunity when you think about it properly.”

Sherlock sat back in the armchair and beamed at her. “Perfect. As always, you’re a marvel. I knew you’d understand.” And then, after a small pause: “Thank you.”

And with that, the game was over. Sherlock whipped out his phone and started tapping away, and Mrs Hudson took a larger gulp of her sherry than Miss Marple would have considered appropriate.

“Sherlock, dear,” she said, feeling a little mischievous.

“Hm?” 

"Do you know, when you first suggested this I thought you meant something else."

Sherlock carried on tapping away.

"I mean, it's really very normal. Just last week they were talking about it in the paper, and I know that Mr Turner-"

"You're talking about sex," said Sherlock doubtfully. He stopped typing and looked up.

Mrs Hudson nodded encouragingly.

A thoughtful expression crossed his face, quickly replaced with a frown.

"Miss Marple," said Sherlock sternly, "was a _maiden_ aunt."

Mrs Hudson sighed and re-filled her sherry glass. “Yes, dear.”


End file.
